Callie's Guardian: White Tigers of Brigantia (Book 1)

by Lisa Daniels

  Well... she knew about ten useless poems off the top of her head. A few lessons of Fjorn etiquette—unfortunately, some of them had adhered themselves to her brain. How to ride a horse. How to not be kicked by a horse. How to select mushrooms that didn't kill you, and a few of the kitchen herbs—thanks to her bullying some of the kitchen staff to let her help them. She also did practise a little with the court jester who was, for all the fact he existed to make others laugh, a rather dour fellow.

  Wait. Several things in Kiara's mind clicked together. “We're allowed to go on stage, right? Because we're supposed to draw attention?”

  Vasha, who had been picking at her fingernails, jerked one eyebrow. “Yes. Why, are you planning to go there?”

  The itch in Kiara's feet prompted her upright. She really did hate staying still for too long. The impulse seized her in such a glorious burst of purpose that she shunted all fear into a little corner. It scratched there, waiting to be let out, but once an idea had seized Kiara, once the impulse to do something consumed, nothing else mattered.

  Even if it happened to be the worst idea ever. Her life was reminiscent of incidents like this. Jumping out the window with just a large and thin linen sheet to see if it would help slow down her fall. She theorized that using it like a cupped palm would snag some of the wind.

  It... didn't really work. But at least she didn't break anything. Or when she decided she wanted to build a treehouse, and spent almost two days building it, neglecting to tell her parents where she was. By the time some worried huntsmen found her, she was seated in her treehouse, eating mushrooms. It still stood today, and she knew for a fact that other children used it, because she found their belongings there, and little notes passed to one another. She even left a message there that said: I hope you like my house! You are welcome to use it.

  She had return notes thanking her, and soon a few similar constructions nearby, making a mini tree village.

  Anyway. Stage. Going there. She strode past some of the men and women, hopped up onto the stage, took a deep breath, and projected, “Hello! Hello, there! Why, I've never seen such a sorry bunch of people, all gathered together like little chickens. Especially you, you've got such a beak nose. Bet you're always clucking about the place. Not you, though—you look like you're permanently offended by everything with that nose. Who nose, right?”

  Those who did bother to stop and listen stared at her in shocked silence. Vasha had clapped her hands over her mouth, either in horror or in amusement. Not that Kiara could tell. Kiara pranced to one side of the stage, where an unfortunate musician was trying to play his whittled wooden flute. “You there! Tell me. Are you overcompensating by using such a lengthy piece of stick? Or do you just like having a bit of wood in your mouth? I understand, it must get so lonely at night, having nothing else but the symphony of your hands and a tiny flute to play with.”

  “What in black hells are you doing?” one man exclaimed, his eyes bulging. Oh, lovely, Kiara thought. “How dare you insult us?”

  “But my dear, that's the point!” Kiara hopped over to him, leaving the flute player confused and embarrassed. “For if no one insults you, however will you learn to not take yourself seriously? You have such a marvellous face. Bright red, with a tinge of green, like a watermelon. If I rapped on your skull, would it sound hollow, or full of mush?”

  Kiara was fast aware that her little act was turning into a potential debacle, because none of the people seemed to be catching the mood. Maybe she didn't carry funny very well? The court jester spoke like this, and people thought him the best.

  Or maybe... they didn't have this kind of humor. Oh dear. Best to just keep going then, and pretend nothing was wrong.

  Just before the man spoke, she saw one of the masked men clamber up on the stage beside her. With a lurch of heart, she recognized the outline as Mordred, though he wore a different mask from before—a black one this time, with blue glowing eyes.

  “Insolent wench!” Mordred announced, his voice a little muffled behind the mask. “You should know better than to insult the mentally challenged—they don't know how to take themselves any other way.” He spread out his hands and twitched his fingers in a beckoning gesture, drawing attention to himself.

  “Except with a stick up the backside,” Kiara said. “Tell me, did your mother make that mask? Because it looks like you're hiding something serious. A wart, perhaps? A face someone would kill themselves over?”

  “Better than your mother, who likely slept with every man in the tavern,” Mordred countered. “She likely did it just to get away from you. Imagine having such an ugly child.”

  “Really? At least I actually know the name of both my mother and father. Well, maybe she did sleep around a lot, as you've rightfully said. I bet your father ran the moment he saw your face.”

  Now that Mordred had joined in on the action, slinging silly insults in her direction, the crowd finally caught onto the mood and started chuckling with their debate. Kiara grinned, enjoying the fact that Mordred was willing to insult himself as much as her. Vasha clapped from the side, laughing so hard that tears leaked out of her eyes. Not everyone seemed to like the humor. The people Kiara had insulted originally certainly didn't like her.

  Really do have sticks up their own asses. Their mock insults eventually ended with a fake wrestling match, where Kiara tried getting Mordred into a headlock, and he tried placing his hand over her mouth to shut her up. Those taken by the impromptu performance loved this, cheering for a winner. Mostly cheering for Mordred, except for Vasha, who actively screeched for Kiara. The ones who didn't like the performance simply went elsewhere.

  Kiara strained against Mordred, and she got a good grip on his mask. Part of her wanted to yank it off, but the other part was terrified at the idea of violating what appeared to be a strong tradition. So she only lightly tugged, to give him plenty of time to stop the action.

  He didn't. The mask slid off, revealing a dark-haired man under it, with bright yellow eyes. Kiara stood there with the mask in her hands, staring into his smirking face, those flushed, wide cheeks, and the black stubble around his chin and jawline, near his ears.

  There were a few gasps in the crowd. And Mordred cocked his head, critically examining the mask. “Well, looks like you've taken the next step in our relationship.”

  “I... I have?” Kiara's words came out in a squeak.

  He seized her hand in his. “Why, yes, my ignorant barbarian. You see, if you happen to stare at the face of one of us... that means you're in bed with them.” Still grinning wickedly, he picked her up and slung her over his shoulder, before striding away from the stage. Kiara vaguely heard Vasha still cheering in the background and the murmurs of the other members of the court, either amazed or offended by what had happened.

  Everything whirled around in Kiara's head, crazy and disconnected. Oh no. All she did was exchange a few insults with Mordred, then wrestle him because that stupid mask of his bugged her. She let go of it and it dropped to the ground, cracking in two. Down the corridor, they passed the full helm guards, who didn't flinch or stir, and then he led them both to a different section of the palace, with her pressed tightly into his body.

  “You know, I only took off your mask for a joke...” Her protest sounded rather feeble, but she wasn't—she wasn't ready for the whole sex act. Not so soon. Usually, brides had months to prepare. They could get it into their heads about performing their duty. Kiara had significantly less time, and, well. She honestly didn't expect her father to ever send her off to something like this. Not without fearing creating a diplomatic incident, like her sabotaging the chances of an alliance between their kingdoms forever.

  “Joke or not,” Mordred said, tone now serious, “if you don't want to have the rest of the court clamoring to burn you at the stake, you're stuck with me.” They rounded a corner and he placed her down. Though there was a twinkle of amusement in his yellow eyes, he tapped her on the nose and continued, “If I hadn't come up to you on the stag
e, you likely would have ruined the idea of an alliance altogether. Maybe your people are more open to insulting each other, but if you insult a Highborn, no matter how clever you make it, by all rights, they could order you whipped if you were a servant, or find some way of freezing you out. People take themselves seriously here.”

  “But that's so boring,” Kiara huffed, hands balling into fists. “How are you supposed to find any joy in life if you just walk around with a face like thunder?”

  “I'll have to reinforce in court later that what you did is considered harmless fun in your culture. But, don't tell anyone else—I'm glad you did that.” He winked, and her cheeks flushed slightly, helping to chase away some of the shame that had surfaced. “I'd gladly do that again.”

  “Did you see their stupid faces?” Kiara allowed a grin to creep to her lips. “Some of them were ready to explode.”

  “Now, now.” He steered her gently towards a door on the right side. Each door was numbered, and they stopped at Eighteen. “Don't push it. These are my rooms. We're supposed to now consummate, but I'll let you hide here for the night instead. And let people think that we've done it.” He shoved her inside the room after opening the door with a cast iron key, and she stumbled into a strange, artfully decorated room. Her eyes traced the light patterns in the air, which shimmered like a water tank, casting moving ripples upon the ground.

  In fact, the entire living room had that underwater effect, with each object inside it enchanted to have that ghostly, sunken miasma about them.

  “Oh, wow,” Kiara said, forgetting her anxiety completely, distracted by the fascinating sight. Her hands trailed into one of the light ripples, which broke apart and reformed as she swiped through. Her own light took on a blue undertone, absorbing the powerful magic of this room.

  Such a waste of magic. And yet, so beautiful at the same time.

  Mordred appeared rather proud of her amazement, and did the same thing as her, trailing his hands through the enchanted air. “It's quite a work of art, isn't it?”

  “Yeah...” Kiara went to examine a vase upon the table with patterns of fish upon it. The lightweaving gave the vase an eerie glow, and she played with the green-blue hues around it. She could taste the strength of the magic upon her tongue. Easily an eighth level or higher weaving. The person likely knew both heat transference and extreme matter manipulation at that stage. Kiara barely made it past level one herself with her lightweavings. She was the other side of shameful waste, she supposed. “Can you lightweave at all?”

  “No, unfortunately,” Mordred replied, now going for a door which looked to be the pantry. “But I do have other magic, powerful in its own right. We call it moonweaving. Imaginative, right?”

  “Moonweaving?” Kiara stopped distorting the light around the vase and scowled at him. “How does that work?”

  “Well,” he said, “traditionally, shifting use to be limited to the full moon. But since... things changed, and the world became dark, my kind has found themselves able to shift at will, along with some extra magic imbued. That enables us to see in the dark, to locate our enemies. And more importantly—to hurt them.” His features took on an evil glint then, and for a moment, Kiara caught a glimpse of the beast within. The werewolf he claimed to be.

  She shivered. Another impulse sprang to mind, and before she could check herself, she blurted, “Can I see this werewolf?” Instantly, she cursed herself. Surely that was like asking someone to strip naked in front of her. Mordred's jaw tightened, but he inclined his head in acceptance, before backing off in the blue-tinged room. He raised his eyes to the ceiling and spread his arms in a dramatic gesture. Showing off, but it did serve for good stage presence.

  Blue and white light formed about his body, until his form became a silhouette of luminous blue, morphing and bending out of shape. She heard distinct cracks, as if the bone under his skin stretched out against it, and everything else needed to rearrange itself around him. He became taller, wider, and the arm muscles became monstrous bulges. The face elongated into a snout-like shape, and when the glow faded, she was left facing a tall, frightening creature that made her shrink into the corner, even though she knew that would serve little to no use.

  She... she'd thought, somehow, that the whole mask thing was just a stupid ritual. That the shapeshifting they talked about was surely some kind of light illusion, an advanced lightweaving that few people knew how to use.

  Not this. Not an actual transformation. Kiara barely suppressed the scream that wanted to rip out of her throat when the creature lumbered towards her. When it neared, it crouched before her, close, so that the snout was inches away from her shoulder. She gave her wits a moment to gather themselves back up before she managed, “Okay. I wasn't expecting that.”

  A sound slipped out of the werewolf's throat, halfway between a growl and a laugh. He remained still, so Kiara could pace around him, inspecting that fearsome body. His fur was a light gray, an almost creamy silver, and looked as if it might be soft to the touch. If he stood, he towered at almost twice her height, and she had to control her breathing to not panic, to not show any obvious signs of fear. He'd likely be able to smell it.

  This is the “god” that these Kanthians put so much stock into, she thought, now reaching a hand to touch that fur. It felt coarser than she expected, but still glided over her fingers. A human that shifts into a creature. Or is he a creature that shifts into a human? Which was which?

  He stood up suddenly and seized her waist in two hands. He picked her up with ease, as if she weighed no more than a sock, and suspended her high above his head. Her heart hammered at a gut-wrenching pace, and her cheeks drained of color. So much strength. Why, if he actually chose to do whatever he wanted to her, she'd be powerless to resist.

  With a giant bound, he vaulted over one quarter of the room, including a table, and dumped her down upon an armchair. Then he stepped back, and his form suffused itself with that intense blue light again, shrinking and crackling back to his smaller human body.

  “Sorry,” he said, rolling his jaw about and making a few cracking sounds, “I can't talk in that form. Perhaps I should have warned you about that beforehand.”

  “I...” Kiara tucked her knees up into her body, her blue dress spilling underneath her. “I don't think any kind of warnings could have prepared me for something like that.”

  She still didn't know whether to shrink away in terror at the knowledge that her parents expected her to marry one of these beasts.

  With a start, she realized that the rest of the Highborn now expected Kiara to get it going with Mordred. Or perhaps marry him.

  Though she didn't really... mind him, the thought made her slightly nauseous. “I... I have to ask. Am I supposed to marry you now?”

  At this, Mordred's face took on a curiously blank expression. “Well, about that...” He pulled an armchair over and sat opposite her. “There may be one little fact I've forgotten to mention. Or two.”

  Heart sinking, Kiara braced herself for bad news. “What is it?”

  “Well,” he said, “you know the big deal about the masks and covering our faces?”

  “Yes...” Though she didn't. Not really.

  “If I reveal my face publicly, and consensually, since there's always someone who tries to be funny, every year or so—it means that I've declared someone as my mate. And I let you take off my mask. Everyone saw it. I could have stopped you, but I didn't. So for all intents and purposes, we are married right now.”

  The words slammed into Kiara like a shield, and she mentally staggered back, reeling, having difficulty stringing the concepts together. Oh, she thought. OH.

  So she had blundered. Spectacularly. Not only did she do that stupid, unfunny performance in front of everyone which almost risked everything her mother and father had been negotiating for, but in what she thought was just a playful moment of trying to take off that silly mask he walked around with, she had inadvertently declared her intentions to marry him.

&nb
sp; Somehow.

  “So, there's no ceremony? No marriage walk down an aisle where I wear a special outfit and vows are exchanged?”

  “No. I'm afraid not. For all intents and purposes—you're with me. It's not the first time a foreigner's made the mistake. It won't be the last.” He had the audacity then to smirk. “It's good for me, anyway. I had my eyes on you since the first night. There's a kind of energy to you that I like.”

  For some reason, hearing that irritated Kiara. In a way, she'd been tricked into marriage, simply because of her ignorance of some of the stranger rules of Kanthus. Which everyone had conveniently forgotten to mention to her, because they assumed she should know it. Although she didn't necessarily mind Mordred, she minded being shoved into an unexpected marriage that didn't seem to practise any ceremony or lengthy engagement time.

  What a stupid place this Kanthus was.

  Why did Mordred let her do that? Why didn't he warn her beforehand? She found it hard to listen to him, to appreciate anything he said when she reflected upon those little facts.

  She went to glare out of Mordred's window, wading past the marine-lit room to a large window near a bookshelf, which showed outside to the glowing lake beneath, the bridges, and the lights of people moving back and forth. One last thing took her attention—the hazy image of a yellow-orange sphere in the sky, with craters and pockmarks upon it.

  A false image of the moon depicted in their murals. For a split second, she had actually thought it might be real, until she focused better and saw that hazy, translucent effect that all lightweavings possessed.

  An impressive enchantment, nonetheless. Even if it did make Kanthus stick out like a sore thumb from all directions, seeing a miniature moon dangling above the city. They really liked their moon symbolism. Though the werewolves supposedly got their power from the moon, so that made sense.

  “It's a beautiful sight, isn't it?” Mordred carefully approached, his hands folded behind his back. “Probably one of the best things we've managed to do. Took some of our greatest lightweavers their most complex magic a few centuries ago.”